So, tomorrow's the big day. I've gotten more stories from some of my favorite bloggers (looks like we've got a contest!) and I'm still figuring stuff out, but if you still want a chance to be in the contest, I've got to have them by midnight tonight.

In the meantime, if you feel like having a Trick or Tini, enjoy the recipe. I've got lots of fun posts planned for the next 31 days!

So, um, wow! I caused a little flurry with my last post. My finger hovered over the publish button and I did it anyway. I figured that people would come down on me for it and explain Obama's idea of foreign policy more succinctly.

I'm still unconvinced and undecided.

I still don't know who I'm going to vote for in Nov. And I want to vote for one of them without reservations. And I still have reservations.

Granted, no one could possibly mistake me for a conservative, but I do have strong conservative views when it comes to foreign policy, and um, that's about it.

Like almost everyone else in America, I already knew who I thought was going to win the first debate. Most people stick with their candidate no matter what. I already knew I was going to like what McCain had to say.

Just like I already know I'm going to like what Obama is going to have to say in Round 2 when it turns to domestic policy.

For me, this election comes down to what we need to do first to put the country back on track.

Do we fix the stuff at home first? Our schools, our economy, our government? Is this possible with the world hating us some much and threatening to 9/11 us again? Which candidate is going to make my life as an average American better AND safer four years from now?

I'll probably vote for Obama, probably. McCain's way of handling the "War on Terror" appeals to me as the best way to get us out of there without causing another Vietnam/Afghanistan(1980's)/Somalia. But that's about it.

Honestly, when he chose Palin as his running mate, that swayed me more towards Obama. The thought of McCain dropping dead and the beauty queen running the country scares me 8 ways to Sunday.

But, I'm sorry, Obama's lack of political experience and NO experience in the military scares me just as much. We've seen how the one term Governor ran the country, I'm scared Obama's got the potential for some major screw ups.

All of the hypotheticals don't matter. One way or the other, someone will be elected in Nov. and the country will move on. No one is as bad as Bush. Either one of them will do a better job.

Saturday, September 27, 2008

Honestly? I'm not a pro-McCain or a pro-Obama voter. I'm dead set in the middle. I can't make my mind up. And I truly would like to. I don't want to pull another 2004 election where I passively-resisted voting for the President on the ballot and instead voted with an informed choice for my state and local elections.

I'm a true "Undecided" that hoped the debates would sway me one way or the other.

So far?

Meh...

I agree with both of them on certain points, but I am shocked that that anyone could think that Obama beat McCain last night.

Umm...kids? What kind of Kool-Aid were you drinking? It must have been Obama MaMa, because I didn't see it.

Then again, I have a degree in American history and I know what happens when we pull out of the Middle East/Latin America pre-maturely.

Umm...hello? Read your history books, kids...Afghanistan in the 1980's? Those who do not learn from history... and all of that.

We're f'd if we pull out too early without the foreplay of diplomacy.

I'm kinda regretting that only one of them gets to be president. Foreign Policy wise, I'm with McCain. Domestically, Obama has my vote hands down.

I'm shocked, as an educated American that anyone could disagree with McCain last night. He has spent the last 30+ years understanding foreign policy as a soldier/POW/Senator.

Kids, regardless of what you want to believe, he knows his shit. At the same time, I understand that we need to get the hell out of there.

My father is a Vietnam Vet. Some of my closest friends just came back from Iraq. I hate the shit that f'd them up.

I worked for a company that gave loans to active duty/retired military during 9/11. I pray for them everyday. I heard their stories up close, days after it happened as their sons/husbands/fathers were sent off into the Atlantic/Pacific to places unknown to them...they were scared, they were shocked...but every single one of them were brave.

My sweet, genius cousin John is there right now. I miss him. I pray for him. I constantly worry for him. He's Special Ops. He's the one going in, pulling people out of the hovels and interrogating them. I flash back to my sensitive, incredible father and I pray John never has that PSTD...Until it's your family that is affected/scarred, until you stand across the room and scream for your PSTD father to wake up because if you touch him he'll toss you across the room, you have no room to talk.

I hate this election because I'm not sure which is most important for America right now...security abroad or security here.

Don't jump to conclusions, it's a harder question than it seems, if you have the education and/or intellect to really have an opinion, please...really. really. REALLY think...

This is a brink of American history that our generation has never known before. It's like the "Choose Your Own Adventure" books when we were kids, except this time the stakes are so high we can have a "Do Over".

I don't know if it Obama or McCain, but I feel the pressure of history on our shoulders this election...

Frankly, I'm kind of disappointed in only 2 entries. Maybe you're a procrastinator like me and just waiting for the last second to send in your entry. SEPT. 30 is the the deadline!!! Dude! That's next Tuesday! Hurry UP!

I'll even sweeten up the deal. The winner will receive a fabulous (dirt cheap from Big Lots or Wal-Mart)holiday (Thanksgiving or Christmas or Hanukkah (sp)) prize from me. I'm letting people vote on the best story. The prize will be hand picked based on the particular nature of the winning author. I'll mail you the equivalent of a White Elephant Gift that you can regift for the office Christmas gift exchange. Hey, I'm just saving you time.

It doesn't matter if it's funny, scary, semi-made up, just send them in. And tell your friends and neighbors to send in their stories. (As an advertising professional, Moxie loves her some viral marketing.) I don't even care if it's a silly story of how you got scared of the silhouette of the stuffed animal in the closet when you were 5, thinking it was a monster. I'll take your Ouijas, your Bigfoots, your UFOs AND your ghosts. It doesn't even have to be a Kansas City story, out of town readers. (Am I starting to sound desperate?)

I'm getting ready. I've already started a list of stuff I'm going to post. (I f'in made a list and that doesn't happen often. I'm being organized!)

I'll take your suggestions on the top 10 scariest/most haunted places in KC, books you've read, movies and mythical creatures.

Just email me at: moxiemamakc@gmail.com or sassypilgrim23@gmail.com

In the meantime, get ready for Oct. 1 and tell me which of these "The Ghost Posts" logos you like best, m'kay? Not my greatest design work, but I half-assed it due to other real life obligations. Gimme a break, hm?

Psst, Internets, lean in a little closer. I've got a secret I don't want to tell my husband, but I need to get it off my chest.

I'm glad he's starting rehearsals for another show next week.

I feel like a bad wife and a selfish mother. I do. But at least I can admit it to you, O, Anonymous Internet. (See why I don't tell my hubby I have a blog?)

Handsome's been on an acting hiatus for the last 2 months and it's been great having him home in the evenings. We make/eat dinner together, watch some tv, do a house chore or two, play with the kid, bathe the kid, read to the kid, put the kid to bed, argue with the kid to "stay in bed and go to sleep!" We're regular Ozzie and Harriets. I guess this is what other couples do most evenings.

"Normal" is weird for us. For our entire relationship of almost 12 years, Handsome always goes off to rehearsal after dinner. It sucked at first when we were dating in college, but now I'm used to it.

Don't get me wrong. I was really looking forward to his "theater break". He had been going back to back with shows (some of them overlapping) for over a year and all the while working his 9 to 5. Poor baby was about to snap like brittle twig. He needed a mental health break. I enjoyed it for the first month or so and now I'm ready to "take back the nights".

Most of Handsome's rehearsals start at around 7 pm, which means he leaves the house by about 6:30, meaning I have about 2 hours of unadulterated Mommy/Daughter time to assuage my working mother guilt. But when Daddy's home, screw mommy. Only Daddy can read to her, wash her, argue about sleeping.

She's a daddy's girl and usually I'm fine with this (I was one too) except this last theater break I kinda feel usurped in my mothering. I'm a nurturer. That's what I do. But I haven't gotten the chance to do all the little things with her that I'm used to doing.

Yes, I know it's important for Handsome to spend as much time as possible with her. But I miss having tea parties and hiding in caves (bedroom closets) from bears. I know Handsome, as an actor, would be a lot more interesting to play with if I were a little kid (he's imaginative and does better puppet voices, I accept that all my voices sound like Oscar the Grouch or Beaker from the Muppets). Having Daddy home for longer than a 3 week stretch in the evenings is something Darling has enjoyed. It's a novelty.

Something else I'll enjoy? Absolute Remote Control. Not that I don't like Mythbuster Marathons and reruns of X-men and Family Guy just as much as the next red-blooded American gal, but you know, what if I want to sneak in a Lifetime movie (shut up, I know!) or geek out on the History Channel? I'm not good at sharing or waiting my turn.

Plus, since I have this super-secret blog, it would be much easier to blog in the evenings from home without someone looking over my shoulder. I won't have to feel guilty over my 2 hour on the phone conversations with my best friend.

I like the 8:30 (Darling's bedtime) to 10:30 (my bedtime) "Me" time. I can do whatever I want (as long as I'm in "Get back in bed!" yelling distance of Darling).

Every so often, he has "I'm a horrible father and husband" abandonment issues. He gushes guilt, I soothe, tell him it's fine, it's his dream, I love that he does it (and I truly do) and we eventually move on. He's enjoyed being home and being an eveningtime father, but I can tell the siren call of his mistress, The Stage is beckoning him. He's antsy. She's demanding.

I adore my husband. Since our time as a family/couple is so limited most of the time, we make it a point to take/pick up Darling from daycare everyday. Handsome and I IM during the day at work. We probably talk to each more than most couples that spend evenings together (I'm guessing. I didn't do the math).

He's my best friend and I couldn't stand to be without him in my life. He's also the best father I have ever known. Those two are like peas and carrots. They are the same type of person if you know what I mean. He adores her and bends over backwards to make time even when he doesn't have it to give to make her feel like the most important person in the universe. (He's good at that with me too).

But, sometimes, Internet, I feel guilty for being a tiny bit jealous of the bond they have. I know the Daddy's Little Girl thing is powerful, and she and I will be closer when she's older but I feel like crap that all the little things she and I do together every evening of her life is discarded just because Daddy's home. (I'm such a horrible person for admitting that.)Being able to do those things with her sort of balanced out the parental duty thing.

I've been so fussy this last week. I've been writing/designing like crap (both here and at work). I wonder how much of it has to do with the anticipation of getting back to normal next week.

I'm a person who adores routines. And my routine is totally messed up. I'm looking forward to next week and the sans-Handsome evenings.

Tuesday, September 23, 2008

While I pretty much get irritated by the glorification of fictional pirates and the recent glut of piratical consummerism (even IF Johnny Depp IS hot), I can always appreciate a good Fred Phelps & Fam shaming. There is probably no one who embarasses me more to be an American than him (and GWB). But then again I can't stand anyone who zealously spews hate in the name of a Higher Being.

I saw this over on Plog and honestly, I think the clouds are parting on my Angry Storm after yesterday. Maybe I am turning more like Pollyanna the more I mature.

(Pause for scornful laughter)

Maybe I need a band of fictional, romanticized pirates to chase Kansas City's attempted car theives...

Nevertheless, I think it's a brilliant way to deal with whackadoos like Phelps. Who knew ridiculous mockery of their hate/"religious" crusade would be such a powerful weapon?

Maybe it's a tactic we can employ in the Middle East? Or not?

No, truly, the lesson that we should get from this story is that Pasta and Pirates should only be harnessed for good against the forces of biogtry and hate.

I'm in a better mood today, btw, my neighbor is fine, but her car was ransacked too. No word on how her keys mysteriously ended up on our front porch before work or how the owner's manual to our car showed up there when we returned from work. Neighbors have been questioned, but no one knows anything. Kind of freaks me out still.

Monday, September 22, 2008

Let me tell you how excited/happy we were to discover my husband's car was broken into sometime between midnight and 7:15ish this morning?

I was livid.

We should be happy that they didn't actually steal it. They did seem to have screw(driver)ed around with the steering column, but they were either too stupid to actually steal it or they got spooked away.

Nevertheless, they did take off with the CD player and a case that held about 20 cds which are going to be pretty difficult to replace. (He likes some weird obscure shit.)

The bright side? The Pollyanna moment?

Imagining the look on their face when they realize that they just stole a bunch of showtune cds.

MWAH HAHAHA!!!

Suck on THAT!

Hope you enjoy "Man of La Mancha" biotches! Bet there's a nice black market for "Urinetown" and Trans-Siberian Orchestra! I can't even imagine how much crack you'll be able to buy with "Cats". I bet your street cred is skyrocketing as you blare "Everything's Up To Date In Kansas City" from "Oklahoma" as you roll down Troost in somebody else's car. I want my "Trainspotting" CD back, but you can keep the CD Handsome's church choir made. You probably need it more than us.

*PS: Next time, fuckhead, pick a car that doesn't have a car seat in it, a dead give away that we have a small kid and wouldn't really appreciate/afford the expense of buying a new car after you trash ours. (Not that anyone can, but you know.)

**PPS: I'm kind of freaked out that my neighbor's work ID and work keys were laying on our front porch this morning. She was already gone by the time we left. I really hope she's ok/she didn't get robbed.

I'm sure it's pure alcohol/Redneck physics, but I was a double Liberal Arts major so I can't really comment. You might want to test the theory against the song "Cotton Eyed Joe". I'm pretty sure you'll find similar effects.

btw: "I Love Ranch Dressing" is on my Christmas list. I plan on buying multiples for my in-laws. You should too. And subscribe to Cara's blog. It's a hoot as we say in the Mid-West.

Oh yeah and my dream baseball game would be the 1985 Royals against the late 1990's Mariners. It didn't happen in last few nights, but a girl can dream, right?

Monday, September 15, 2008

One of the things I enjoy almost as much as crazy conspiracy theories, '80's punk rock and Nutella is true encounters with ghosts.

At first, it was my intention to post some of my really true stories that I've experienced. I grew up in a house that was kind of freaky, I've worked in 3 museums and lived in an Amityville Horror of a house during college. I've got some good stories.

But then, after thinking about it, I thought, "Maybe others would like to share." I love hearing (mostly true) ghost stories and maybe it's time to toy with the idea of guest bloggers.

So here's the dealio: I'd like to (if you're willing to participate) post 31 ghost stories (one each day in October.)

Do you have any ghost stories? Would you like for me to share it? Here's the rules if you participate:1. You get all the linky love I can muster from my tens of readers. You'll be semi-famous.2. Make it true (or at least entertaining. Lie about the truth if you have to).3. It can be a story from a friend (or a friend of a friend) but the person had to be(semi)sober when they told you the story.4. You should try to submit your story to me by Sept. 30th at moxiemamakc.gmail.com5. You can send me multiples (I LOVE multiples, but that's another story)6. I'll take anonymous submissions.

Anywho....Are you game? Send them in and gather around the campfire (or the eerie glow of your computer screen). October should be fun.

Thursday, September 11, 2008

Everytime I hear the song, "Where Were You When The World Stopped Turning" by Alan Jackson I burst into tears. Not because of my strong sense of patriotism or because I'm horrified by what happened on 9/11 (though I am). I have much different reasons.

Sept. 11th, 2001, I was home sick with a horrible cold. I got up around 8:30, went into our study to check my email and the first thing I see on msn.com is "Plane Crashes Into World Trade Center" "Cool, that new Arnold Swartzeneger movie" I think (Collateral Damage). I click on the link and it doesn't want to load the page. I get a bad feeling. I go downstairs, turn on CNN like any good member of my generation, and realize it's real. I think I saw the second plane crash and as the newscasters relate that the buildings around the Twin Towers might be unsafe, one of those being the Chase Manhattan building, I remember praying that my grandmother's family, who lived just across from Manhattan in Brooklyn were safe.

Then the phone rings. It's my mom, crying. She tells me that the night before, my Grandma had passed away. It truly was a day for me that the world stopped turning. 9/11 was a defining day in American history, but also in my life.

My father's mother was the most wonderful person. I was her oldest grandchild and had no idea that she had been sick. (I was EXTREMELY estranged from my family at the time and my mother had told me not to call/visit my grandparents since my grandma didn't approve of Handsome as a mate....I later found out this wasn't the case from my Grandpa.) I hadn't seen her/talked to her in 3 months. Ironically, the last time I saw her was about a week before the mysterious illness that ended her life struck.

I never got to say goodbye.

I had talked to my father about a week or two before she died, when she was going thru the worst of it. I remember asking how my grandparents were and he just told me "Fine". Every single person that loved her was able to say goodbye except for me. At the funeral, I could feel my aunts/uncles/cousins eyes on me, incriminating me with "Where WERE you?" I couldn't say a word because no one was supposed to know I wasn't getting along with my parents and that certainly wasn't the time to bring it up. I feel so guilty to this day that maybe that thought crossed her mind, wondering where her eldest granddaughter, who was certainly the closest to her, was.

I miss her so much. All 5'2" of her was packed with sass, moxie and an overwhelming love for those around her. To go to Grandma's house was the most incredible experience for me. I remember getting out of my car and her yelling at Ragsy, the black and white sheep dog they had, not to jump on me. I miss her hugs, her kisses, the way she would call me "Dollbaby", the demonstrative affection that wasn't in my parents' nature to show.

She was an incredible woman. Her parents were Ukranian immigrants who settled in Brooklyn and one night at a dance....I can only imagine the Brooklynese secretary meeting the Navy/Kansas farm boy that was my grandfather. Two totally seperate worlds, and yet they fell in love, exchanged letters during the war and after it ended, they were married, settled down on Long Island, and had my dad and my uncle.

Grandpa missed the Kansas farm life, so they moved back to KS. He bought a farm outside of Leavenworth/Lansing, KS. When I imagine their early life, I think of the old tv show, "Green Acres" and how she literally gave up Manhattan to pursue his dreams. How scary to leave EVERYTHING you've ever known and move to the middle of nowhere, half a continent away and to never complain about it. How brave and strong she was.

I know that her influence rubbed off on both her daughters and her granddaughters too. She may have been little in stature, but the sass she had was 50 years ahead of her time. I'm proud of me, my sisters and my cousins, who are all strong, successful and self determing.

She was always true to herself and always spoke her mind. Maybe it was the Brooklyn influence in her.

I remember the first time Handsome ever met her. He asked me if she was from Brooklyn and being surprised, I told him yes, how did he know that? He told me he recognized her accent, which for my entire 19 years of life, I'd never heard. She had always just sounded like unconditional love.

The days following 9/11 were disconnected for me. I couldn't fathom losing her. I couldn't fathom the tragedy (the audacity) of the terrorists. We all sat around, staring at the television, numb and feeling surreal. Painful death seemed to be everywhere. 9/11 didn't hit me until a few weeks later and the worst of my sorrow for my Grandma was starting to fade.

I remember when I was pregnant with Darling, thinking of how she would be when she was born and how much I hoped she would have Grandma's moxie (I come by my moxie honestly). One of her paintings was hanging in my living room and the first night we brought Darling home from the hospital, I remember looking up at it and just asking her to help me in the overwhelming task of raising a child. I know she was there with me.

The first time I took Darling up to see my Grandpa, I could feel her energy (which is still there, watching over him) rush me, just to see the new baby. She was so happy. I remember Grandpa telling me to name the next one after her. I promised I would.

I remember the last time we visited Grandpa and Darling pointing to their last portrait together on the living room wall and telling me, "Grandma". How she is drawn into their spare bedroom where Freckles and her Tigger are. How I feel like her spirit (that won't rest in watching over Grandpa) always draws her into the extra bedroom so she can play with her great granddaughter.

I remember how blue the Kansas sky was the day of her funeral. I remember how Grandpa touched her casket and didn't seem to be able to let go. I remember my great aunt and uncle putting their hands on his shoulders and without saying a word, let him know it was ok. I remember how hard it was for me to read at her funeral, how hard I cried during the song "Shepard Me, O God" (The same song sang at Mass the day we found out my first college boyfriend had been killed in a car accident the night before).

Everyday I miss her. I miss her hugs, I miss her povatiza, I miss all of her cooking, I miss her hugs, kisses, homemade Pound Puppies, the old house, the weeks in summer I got to go up and visit them. How she was so proud of my smallest accomplishment in school....I just miss her.

I worry she looks down on my life now and judges me. I worry she's no longer proud of me, but every time I step in Grandpa's house, every time I see Darling smile, she's alive and I feel her approval.

I know she adores her great-granddaughter who has not only her sassiness and spunk, but also her incredible compassion and devotion to those she loves. I know she lives on in others, but I'm glad she still loves all of us. I'm the eldest of her eldest and I want so much to be a testament to the things she loved and believed in.

Wednesday, September 10, 2008

From the file of Extreme Human Stupidity: This story about the mom who stole another person's child from school just to prove the point that it's easy?!

If you tried to take my kid, she'd start screaming, clawing, biting and doing whatever she can to get attention. Had that child been taught to do so, this "do-gooder" mom would have been in SO much more trouble.

Hey, thanks for pointing out to all the pedophiles and extortionists how easy it can be. Thanks for keeping America safe, jackass! I bet the PTA will engrave a plaque for you!

I was over the Sarah Palin shocker in about 5 minutes. Honestly, I don't care about the McCain, Palin, Obama or Biden families.

So what? I'm bored.

I agree this an historic election.

I'm neither Republican or Democrat. I'm going to vote for the "team" that has the best, most logical plans to fix the following:

Health Care

Education (Get rid of No Child Left Behind)

Creating jobs that provide a livable wage

Fixing our relationships with foreign powers

Getting our red, white and blue asses out of Iraq in a way that isn't going to leave the Middle East unstable. (We'll just have to go in again or wait for another hit on US soil if we don't. Immediate, unconditional withdrawl is stupid and naiive.)

Most particularly, I would like to know what they plan on doing about the recession that is going to hit during the first quarter of their first term.

Am I being unreasonable? Or should I just wait for Sarah Palin to be on Oprah with her hubby, kids and soon to be grandchild?

Is it me or are you (media) avoiding the issues purposely to get the ratings on the "fascinating" lives of these candidates?

How about some real journalism? Hmm?

Expose the facts, the plans and really stick it to them when it comes to the carry thru.

Monday, September 8, 2008

Today was weird in the office. I felt disconnected...TS Eliot...for all who understand it...for all who need to hear it...Of all his poems, this one has always sung to me. SO...For you, Constant Reader, a little subversity from your middle class life...

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

LET us go then, you and I, When the evening is spread out against the sky Like a patient etherised upon a table; Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets, The muttering retreatsOf restless nights in one-night cheap hotels And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells: Streets that follow like a tedious argument Of insidious intent To lead you to an overwhelming question …Oh, do not ask, “What is it?” Let us go and make our visit.

In the room the women come and go Talking of Michelangelo.

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening, Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains, Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys, Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap, And seeing that it was a soft October night, Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

And indeed there will be time For the yellow smoke that slides along the street, Rubbing its back upon the window-panes; There will be time, there will be time To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet; There will be time to murder and create, And time for all the works and days of hands That lift and drop a question on your plate; Time for you and time for me, And time yet for a hundred indecisions, And for a hundred visions and revisions, Before the taking of a toast and tea.

In the room the women come and go Talking of Michelangelo.

And indeed there will be time To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?” Time to turn back and descend the stair, With a bald spot in the middle of my hair— [They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”] My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin, My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin— [They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”] Do I dare Disturb the universe? In a minute there is time For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

For I have known them all already, known them all:— Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,I have measured out my life with coffee spoons; I know the voices dying with a dying fall Beneath the music from a farther room. So how should I presume?

And I have known the eyes already, known them all— The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase, And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin, When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall, Then how should I begin To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways? And how should I presume?

And I have known the arms already, known them all— Arms that are braceleted and white and bare [But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!] It is perfume from a dressThat makes me so digress? Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl. And should I then presume? And how should I begin? . . . . . Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streetsAnd watched the smoke that rises from the pipes Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?…

I should have been a pair of ragged claws Scuttling across the floors of silent seas. . . . . . And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully! Smoothed by long fingers, Asleep … tired … or it malingers, Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me. Should I, after tea and cakes and ices, Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed, Though I have seen my head [grown slightly bald] brought in upon a platter, I am no prophet—and here’s no great matter; I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker, And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,And in short, I was afraid.

And would it have been worth it, after all, After the cups, the marmalade, the tea, Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me, Would it have been worth while, To have bitten off the matter with a smile, To have squeezed the universe into a ball To roll it toward some overwhelming question, To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead, Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”— If one, settling a pillow by her head, Should say: “That is not what I meant at all. That is not it, at all.”

And would it have been worth it, after all, Would it have been worth while, 100 After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets, After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor— And this, and so much more?— It is impossible to say just what I mean! But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:Would it have been worth while If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl, And turning toward the window, should say: “That is not it at all, That is not what I meant, at all.” . . . . . No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be; Am an attendant lord, one that will do To swell a progress, start a scene or two, Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool, Deferential, glad to be of use, Politic, cautious, and meticulous; Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse; At times, indeed, almost ridiculous— Almost, at times, the Fool.

I grow old … I grow old …I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach? I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach. I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves Combing the white hair of the waves blown back When the wind blows the water white and black.

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

Last weekend was the Bicentennial Celebration of the founding of Ft. Osage. Didn't know that? Yeah, me either. Seems JACO Historical Society didn't feel the 200th anniversary of the founding of the first permanent structure this side of the state was worth really publicizing.

Nevertheless, Handsome, Darling and I traversed the miles to Ft. Osage on Sat. and discovered what was to be seen.

I'll admit I get a *bit* judgmental when it comes to historical preservation/interpretation...Here's what we saw:Darling and her new pioneer pal...

Early Frontier medicines...

Mike Sanders giving a useless speech (but his was better than the two that followed)...

Ummm...where were the throngs. At my museum, who is not celebrating such an auspicious anniversary, we had about 200 visitors last weekend versus the paltry 150 or so I saw at the Ft. Osage shin-dig.

Where were the historians? Where were the adoring throng of people I had to park around a few years ago at the Federally run Lewis & Clark Bi-Centennial? Shame on JACO Historical Society for not keeping the fervor going. You were handed attendance on a silver platter and failed. C'mon. I know you people. You're better than this!

I just read Patriot Hearts by Barbara Hambly. Incredible novel. Slight bodice ripping, a lot more history, total adventure story of strong American women. The story of the first 4 First Ladies (including the fascinating, mysterious Sally Hemmings)

Thursday, September 4, 2008

*Subtitle: This post was pre-empted by imaginary penny swallowing, so bear with me and pretend it was yesterday. M'kay? Thx.*

Goodnight, Summer 2008

Goodnight, Pool with the silly giraffeGoodnight, Lake with my silly auntsGoodnight, Grandpa S'mores...Goodnight splashing...Goodnight, Duckies...Goodnight, drunken parties that Mama and Daddy shouldn't have played with her toys...

About Me

I'm a multi-tasking super Mama who loves to argue politics, discuss current events and visit museums. I have an adoring, Handsome Hubby, a Darling daughter (who's an older soul than I am) and 2 insane cats. I hate garden gnomes, stupid people and most seafood. I also love crazy conspiracy theories and semi-drunk philosophical debates with others.